We Tried To Wash Our Hands Of All Of This
by Lolee
Summary: Things are not the same when Dean comes back and neither of the boys are okay. So they have to find their way back.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay...I've been gone for a long time, I know. I'm sorry!! Just hoping I can try to tell another story, hoping you still want to hear them!!**

**So this one makes assumptions like...Dean coming back and Dean not being so good with coming back.**

**I love reader input and any concrit you have. I must ask though...if you can't be nice, please don't comment. I do this for fun, not to be, well, picked at.**

**Now go on and read...I wrote this with a broken left wrist (yep, two fingers on the keyboard) so read it slow and you'll catch my pace! Ha, ha!**

He'd spent twenty-some-odd years living his life as a soldier, trained and brainwashed. He held to the rules his father had given to him better than most held to the Ten Commandments. 'Never show your weakness, fight your hardest, win the battle at any cost'.

He was a warrior in the dark. When the curtains were drawn, the doors were locked, and the rest of the world slept, Dean fought. He fought the shadows of doubt that clouded things. He battled the ache in heart that filled the place his mother's love had been once up on a time. He wrestled with the constant urge to take his brother and hide him away somewhere safe where he could protect him for the rest of forever. He struggled with the thought that this was it, all his life would be.

He'd been through too much in such a short length of time. He'd had more than the weight of the world on his shoulders. He'd carried the weight of heaven and hell, and good and evil. He'd lost his father, held his baby brother in his arms as he died, sold his soul, unleashed the fury of hell on humanity, watched Sam change from the bright light he had been into a broken and sorrowful man, then died a horrific death and went to hell only to be brought back by love. It was more than any one person could even try to handle and in a no-tell motel, he'd finally found he couldn't take it anymore.

It was, as Roosevelt had said once, a day that would live in infamy.

They were working a job in a sprawling metropolis. Smog filled air, horns that never stopped honking, people crowding the streets, buses stopping every few feet to pick up more riders, and street vendors everywhere. Sam looking at him that way.

In grand tradition, there had been a girl whom they assumed needed saving. Turns out she was more of a Joan of Arc than a Snow White. The young journalist swooped in in her modest Toyota Corolla and saved the day with a little quick thinking and a lot of heart.

When the salt was poured and the bones were burned, she thanked them. Sam hugged her and she gave Dean a kiss on the cheek, then it was back to the kitschy motel on the far east side of town. Dean went for the shower while his brother went for takeout.

In the bathroom, the water was lukewarm and the soap was cheap. The smell of glycerin and the scratch of the hard water pounded home all of the things that had been playing in Dean's mind. He thought of the journalist and her apartment. He thought of her boyfriend and what a lucky guy he was because not only did he have the girl, but he didn't have a gun under his pillow. He envied the kid who'd sold them burgers for lunch and the obscene simplicity of his existence. He wished for the life of the old guy who'd pumped his gas and talked incessantly about his grandchildren in Florida and his wife at home. He tried so hard not to think about what his life had been and what his life was.

When he got out of the shower Sam was sitting at the cheap particle board table with boxes and boxes of food, flanked by bottles of soda, condensation dripping on the wood. Dean leaned over the table, peering in the cartons, all his favorites were there. He looked at Sam but couldn't see anything but fear and concern. He wished for the Sam that saw past his issues and just wanted to do the job and hang out with his big brother. He remembered that kid that somehow turned into this man. He'd hold onto those memories of the old Sam and Dean and bring them back when he needed the strength to get through whatever he was trying to fight his way through.

Sam didn't say a word as Dean sat down, just piled food on a paper plate and put it in front of his brother. He knew something was going on, but until Dean let him in, this was really the only thing he could do. He popped the top of the soda and put it next to Dean's plate as his brother ripped open a pair of chop sticks. They ate quietly, Dean unsure of how to deal with what was going on inside of him and Sam unwilling to disturb whatever peace Dean was trying to find.

The food was gone and the table had been cleared. Sam sat tapping quietly on his laptop while Dean absently channel surfed. His thumb never stopped moving, skipping from channel to channel without ever stopping. He was restless and couldn't sit still; stretching out then sitting up, leaning against the headboard then sitting at the foot of the bed. He went to the bathroom three times in two hours, drank two more sodas just to be doing something. Sam didn't comment on any of it.

At nine he took a walk across the street to the stop-and-rob where Sam had gotten the sodas and bought a sixer of Bud and a pack of reds. He strolled back in the cool night air and sat on the back of the Impala drinking and smoking, not really sure why he was doing either. Five smokes in, he stowed the pack in the glove box and finished his third beer, then just sat quietly.

Sam watched him through the dirty window, trying to read the slump of his shoulders and measure the weight on his back. But Dean was Dean and gave no tells. Whatever was going on in his brothers head would come out eventually, it was up to Dean to decide when and how, still deep down Sam knew. This was the same thing that had a grip on Dean since he came back.

Around eleven Dean came in and headed for the bathroom. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then silently crawled into his bed. Sam shut off the lights and got into his own bed. Sleep found Sam quickly but was just past Dean's grasp.

The room was quiet and the night was still, but Dean's fight was getting louder and harder to win.

Sam woke up at two a.m. to a light coming from the bathroom and the sound of his brother pacing. Dean's pacing wasn't like anyone else's. When he paced it was loud, big feet slapping the floor with the full weight of his body, giving the tiles a beating for whatever was going on. Silence was for hunting and working, this was for therapy and release.

Sam sat up straight in the bed and watched Dean for a moment. His shoulders were still slumped, hands clenching a fist and letting go over and over again. He thought maybe he could see his brother's lips moving but there was no sound. Whatever was going on across the room, it was it wasn't good and he couldn't play audience to it anymore.

"Dean?" He mumbled as he stood up.

The older man stopped in his tracks and looked to his brother. "I woke you up. M'sorry. Go back to sleep". He stalked to the bathroom and turned off the light.

"No, no. Its fine", he turned on the lamp between the beds illuminating the room again, "You okay?"

"It's nothin'." He ran a hand over his face, "I'm fine".

"Well get some sleep man, It's been a long week". Sam pointed to the bed and watched as Dean sat on the end.

"I can't. I can't sleep. Stuff won't stop, can't turn it all off". He didn't look at Sam, didn't want to see this different, harder version of him anymore.

"What can't you turn off?" Sam sat next to him on the bed. He expected Dean to jump, flip his masochist self deprecation switch, find a way out of the moment. But he didn't, he just scrubbed his face with an open palm.

"Our life man. Where we're gonna end up in the future. How I fucked up every opportunity in the past."

Sam was quiet, listening carefully, giving his brother his full attention. Dean didn't open up like this much, so when he did, you had better believe it was important.

Dean was breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down, sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool air of the room. Sam watched his knee bobbing, foot tapping a rhythm on the floor, and then as his eyes drifted up, he saw his big brothers hands.

Steady hands that held him as a baby, soothed him as a child, had given life saving first aid, protected him from what he didn't see, held a gun to those things that threatened him, were shaking. They shook so much Dean couldn't stop it. He was wringing his hands, holding one inside the other, trying to stop the movement, trying to hide his weakness.

That wasn't something Sam could just gloss over and look past. So he took a chance, put one of his huge hands over both of Dean's and held them tight. He squeezed, enough to let Dean know he recognized the tremors, and again to let him know he was there to hold him steady if he needed it. He ducked his head around and tried to look Dean in the eye.

"Hey," a call to attention. "What's going on?"

Dean took a deep breath and looked at him before he stood and crossed the room, "Don't want to talk about it Sammy, just go back to bed."

"Remember that day I saved you from hell? Since then I figure there's not a lot that I can't do, Dean." Sam stood and put his hands on his hips, "Not talking about things doesn't work for us. So just tell me what's going on."

Dean slumped against the wall then slid down to the floor. "I have memories. Not much, just little pieces of what it was like. Heat and fear and helplessness. I went down there because that's what it cost to keep you safe. And I don't regret it for a second".

Dean looked up at Sam, hoping against hope that the light would be back in his eyes. It wasn't.

"I would have lost my mind if it weren't for you. I just kept reminding myself that you were okay, that this was the cost of love". He worried the hem of his t-shirt, tears welling in his eyes and brimming over. "But it's different now. I don't know how to be here. I don't know how to be me anymore".

Something in Sam stirred and he wanted to grab Dean and hold him tight, stop the way that not only his hands shook but his whole body shook. But he wouldn't. More than once Sam had tried physical displays of love and affection, and they were never well received. He was broken too, and he couldn't take being shoved away anymore. It hurt too much.

"I don't know how to be strong and I don't know how to be the hero. I just don't know anymore". For such softly spoken words, the message was deafening.

Sam sat on the floor next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder, and said what he'd needed to say for a long time. "You can't keep doing this Dean. I know you're not okay, and I'm not either, but we can't let this take control and ruin our lives".

Dean scoffed. "Ruin our lives? I know this isn't the life you want Sammy…crappy motels and a forty year old car."

"This motel isn't that bad", he mused for his brothers benefit. "Circle K adjacent. The pool is pretty clean, a nice shade of green. Beds don't squeak, soaps still in a wrapper, smells like air freshener and not the last person that stayed here. And the car…I wouldn't let her hear you talking like that".

Dean stood up as fast as Sam had ever seen him move. He was a blur. He slid his jeans on, then his shirt and grabbed his jacket while his feet pushed into his boots.

"What are you doing Dean? Where are you going?"

"I don't know", he yelled as he spun around to look at his little brother. "I just can't be here. I'm not the guy that died and went to hell, I'm someone else and I don't know how to be here, or what you need or how to take that look off of your face". He was breathing hard and fighting for oxygen and words.

Sam stood up and followed him to the door, grabbing his arm as he slipped out. "Dean…don't".

Dean shook the hand off and looked up into his brothers sorrowful eyes. "Just let me go Sammy. I won't be gone long…back by breakfast. I just", he blinked at the tears and looked out into the dark outside their door. "I just need to go look for me".

Sam let him go and let his own tears fall as he heard the impala rumble to life. He drug himself back to bed and somewhere between the fears and the tears, he fell asleep.

**Mmmmm, good like cookies and peach pie. So, I think this is the beginning of something. But I'm no expert, so you tell me! I hope you enjoyed it! I will forever have this image of a desperate Dean, hands shaking in his lap, in my head. I think he needs to be in print, ya know...**

**Okay, done blabbing. Reviews...please?? **


	2. strange death or unexplained death?

**Okay, so I know this took entirely too long and I apologize. But you'll be happy to know I finally got a handle on the story!! Add in the busted hand (cross your fingers for no surgery) and my little three day escape from consciousness, and I think I did good getting anything out at all!**

**I promise to be a better author!!**

**So this starts slow, but I think its better by the time it ends…good stuff coming!! **

**Review please…make the muse dance!!**

Dean made good on his promise and was back in the morning.

He had driven two hours out of town, his mind racing faster than the 425 under the hood, and stopped at a diner for bad coffee. He sat alone in a sticky booth in the corner and drank two cups of black. He left the waitress a five dollar tip on a buck twenty bill.

He drove the two hours back to the motel, his head turning over thoughts about how to get out of this mess and what leaving it behind would mean. He pulled into the parking lot and sat with the music playing low, watching the sun coming up, and waiting. He was waiting for something to happen, some kind of sign to tell him he was supposed to come back and see things through.

As the sun rose and settled high in the western sky, he got out of the car and laid across the hood. He counted the minutes and waited for his sign. But nothing came. He watched the birds land on the power lines one by one then flutter away in large groups. He shifted around so the cold metal of the car was never on his back too long. He waited as long as he could before he gave up and slid off of the car. He was opening the door, ready to slip back inside and go find a nice desolate highway to park on and blow his brains out …when his sign came.

The motel room opened and slowly, Sam's tall frame stepped into the cloudy morning light. He smiled and looked Dean right in the eye before pulling his hand through his hair and moving the tangled strands from his face. That's all needed to do, nothing special, he just had to be Sam. His Sammy, with the same sleepy eyes and soft smile he'd worn everyday of his life. "Did you bring coffee or should I grab my coat?" he yelled into the parking lot. And Dean knew that was his sign. Sam still needed him. Even if it was only for coffee in the morning and clean underwear when he ran out.

Dean hesitated for a moment at the prospect of being locked in the car with Sam and the promise of awkward conversation and that look Sam was always wearing these days. "G-Get your coat. I'll wait out here. Hurry".

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rosie's Diner was big and crowded. The boys saw themselves to a booth in the back were just getting comfortable when a chubby redheaded waitress came by and took their orders. Sam just wanted some oatmeal and a coffee but Dean ordered a three egg omelet, toast, ham, and milk. Sam slowly ate his oatmeal and watched Dean shovel it in.

He'd been eating this way since about a week after he got back. There was no such thing as too much and gluttony seemed to be his best friend.

"When you're done loading up on trans-fats, we gotta decide where we go now". Sam stared at his brother for just a moment before he averted his eyes and started to shred his napkin, "either strange death in Utah or an unexplained death in Colorado".

Dean drained the milk in his glass and looked out of the window for just a moment. "Colorado sounds good".

Sam wasn't sure if the easy way Dean agreed was good or bad, but it was a move forward, out of town and a way to put one more day behind them.

o-o-o-o-o

It was seven hours to Colorado. Six hours of near silence, mostly grunts and deep breathing, then Sam started in on the specs of the job. The victims name was Steve Morris; white male, 34 years old, girlfriend that lives in town, no family to speak of, and Dean's favorite part…occupation: ski instructor. He was found mutilated in the woods he'd spent most of his life in.

"And this requires our specific skill set how?" Dean was trying his hardest to keep up his end of things, but the fire wasn't really there.

Sam sighed, also doing his part, and pulled a paper from the pile in his lap. "Couple of people have been found dead in those woods every twelve years for the last seventy-two years. They're all mutilated and it's always been blamed on wildlife. But there is a clear pattern: all men, all capable and comfortable in the outdoors, all single, all within the same seven day span every twelve years". He stopped reading and dropped the paper, "It so clear, I don't understand how no one's seen this pattern before, even local LEO's".

"Okay".

Again, Sam was put off by Dean's lack of enthusiasm. "I think this should be easy. A little recon work, a little time in the snow. We can be done by the end of the week".

Dean kept his eyes on the road, didn't say a word.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. "I also think we should find a room when we get to town then head out for a drink".

Dean shot his brother a sidelong glance but had his eyes back on the road as soon as he saw Sam was serious.

"Kay. Room, food, drinks".

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It had an honest to God red brick drive. The shrubs were perfectly manicured and the flowers boxes were overflowing with brilliant flora. If he had it in him Dean would have found it nauseating.

"Just get us a room, don't give em' any reason to want to get to know us". Dean looked at the office building, "Don't need grandma coming by with cookies while we're washing Yeti blood out of our clothes".

Sam huffed and closed the door, disappeared into the office, and came out ten minutes later with a key. "Number nineteen on the back end".

When Sam slipped the key in the door he was prepared for picket fence headboards, garden murals on the wall, maybe even a few fairies carefully placed in the room. But nothing could have prepared him for what he found.

"Holy shit". It was the only thing he could get out before Dean pushed his way into the room and started laughing.

"Gnomes. Sweet".

Sam just stood slack jawed.

There were tiny gnomes all over the room, accompanying the picket fence headboards and garden murals. On the nightstand, the table, the windowsill.

"How the hell am I supposed to sleep in here?" Sam asked as he dropped his bag on the first bed and moved further into the room.

Dean closed the door behind him and walked in, picking up Sam's bag and throwing it on the opposite bed. He dropped his own on the first bed and walked through, taking note of the gnomes on the shower curtain, holding the lamp, and the gnome clock on the dresser. "You close your eyes, genius".

Sam couldn't contain the eye roll or huff as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Dean walked back to his own bed, shedding his jacket as he went. Sam couldn't help but notice the way his brother limped.

"You're leg hurting you?" He asked.

When the hell hound went for Dean, he'd done a lot of damage, especially when he ripped through Dean's left leg. It was better now, but when he was on his feet too long or sat in the car for long stretched it bothered him.

"It's fine", Dean sat down and started to pull clothes out of his bag. "I'm just gonna take a hot shower and loosen it up a little." He stood with a grimace and walked to the bathroom door, "why don't you order a pizza or something and we can turn in early. Maybe catch Eddie Izzard on HBO".

"Thought we were going out", Sam asked.

Dean shot him a look from the doorway, "Not tonite Sammy. You so thirsty, there's a half a six pack in the trunk".

That said, Dean escaped into the sanctuary of the bathroom and stayed there for almost an hour.

When he came out, Sam was laying on the bed, with half of a pizza and three empty beer bottles. He had taken every gnome and placed them behind the desk and put the lamp and the clock on the floor.

"Where are all your friends", Dean asked as he walked through the room, a towel running over his hair.

"I put all the freaky little trolls away", he snapped. "Left you some pizza, too".

Dean sat on his bed with a sigh. "And no beer".

"I was thirsty", Sam shrugged.

"Whatever". Dean threw his towel at the younger man and sat down. He pulled his aching leg on to the bad and started to massage it. "Why don't you scurry out and get me a soda, huh? Nothing diet".

Sam did as he was asked and brought Dean the soda from the vending machine, and when the pizza was gone and the witty comic had accomplished his mission on the television, the boys readied for bed.

Sam closed the curtains and cranked up the heater before convincing Dean to take something for the pain in his leg.

They both crawled under the blankets and hunkered down for the night, but the night was always the hardest part. Sure, the doors were locked and there were guns and blades hidden under the pillows. But since John died, or maybe it was since Sam came back from Stanford, they never felt safe. Rarely did they both sleep through the night, and with Dean in a medicated sleep, tonight was Sam's night to fight in the darkness.

Long after Dean slipped off, Sam was up, stretched across the twin mattress, replaying the last year. He could see all of his mistakes, all of Dean's mistakes, all of their mistakes. The last months were the most vivid. All the searching and fighting to save Dean, only to see him ripped and bleeding on the floor of a strangers home. The battle to pull him out of hell. And now this daily fight to get Dean back from where all of his pain and anguish had taken him.

Sam spent hours going over the 'what if's' and the 'if only's', each thought tearing him up a little more, till he couldn't breathe, couldn't just lay there awake anymore. He pulled the covers back, tripped over the gnome lamp, and pulled on his boots and jacket. He wasn't sure he could get out into the night air fast enough, but he did. Tripping and stumbling, thumping into the door before falling into the cool Colorado night. He stood breathing in frigid air and kicking himself for everything that was his fault, from the night in Cold Oak to the pain in Dean's leg.

He strode over to the car, opened the passenger's side door, and pulled Dean's flask out of the glove compartment. He unscrewed the cap and was taking a long pull.

He was jerked from behind and almost choked on the bitter drink.

"What the hell…Dean? What are you doing up?" He swallowed the whiskey in his mouth as he spoke.

"My spidy-senses were tingling", he smiled softly. "I woke up to pee and your bed was empty. Why are you out here in the middle of the night?"

Sam held up the flask, "Couldn't sleep. Thought this might help a little".

"Alright, well. You had your night cap, now come on in. I'm not gonna take care of you giant, snot covered face when you get sick".

Sam unscrewed the flask and took another pull before he followed his brother in.

It wasn't an end to anything, just the opposite actually. It was the beginning of a whole new problem. Now they were in the same room, in the same space, hiding from each other.

**Yes it was short…but what do you think?? Please review!! Hugs to everybody!!**


End file.
